Masquerade
by mteagle128
Summary: On orders from the Queen herself, Integra finds herself in a situation she would rather have avoided.  Will her loyal servant prove to be a help or a hindrance?  Loosely connected two-shot orig. written at Halloween
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Alucard, Integra and all other characters of _Hellsing_ are the property of Kouta Hirano and the various agents responsible for the production of the manga and anime. I do not profit from this piece nor is any copyright infringement intended.

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><p>Bored.<p>

Painfully, horribly, _woefully_ bored out of her mind—that was exactly how Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing felt as she stared across a sea of spectacular costumes and masked faces swirling across the vast ballroom, reveling in the pomp and pageantry of the evening.

She snatched a flute of champagne from a passing server and took a sip. Frankly, she had more pressing things to do on a Halloween night rather than gracing a load of boorish aristocrats with her reluctant presence. She glared at the reverie with contempt, doubting quite seriously that the attendance of any of the other guests of this soiree had been mandated by Royal Order.

Perhaps the Queen thought to do her a favor by "dragging her away from the stresses of running her organization." Maybe she was even trying, in a somewhat indirect way, to play matchmaker. She had been approached by several young nobles that night—a prince, a clown, a pirate and a ghost that she could recall. She had turned each one down, probably a bit more sternly than necessary; however, if she had to be miserable, then she would ensure she had company. If nothing else, her reputation as the Iron Maiden was even more strongly solidified.

Integra neatly finished her drink, savoring the bubbles as they danced in her mouth and down her throat, before setting the empty flask on a nearby table. She wished that she had remembered her precious Winzermans. At least smoking would have given her something to do.

Another hour passed. Another round of prospective suitors came and were sent on their respective ways. Two more glasses of champagne disappeared as she listened to the endless prattle of her colleagues. Finally, her nicotine-starved mind could take no more and demanded a change of scenery. Excusing herself, she left the party and headed for the balcony.

The night was crisp, clear and quiet; a beautiful contrast to the noisy, stuffy ballroom. The moon hung high in the sky, bright and full, basking the courtyard in its soft silver light as it danced across the mist below—mist that upon closer inspection seemed to gather with abnormal speed and thickness. A cold rush of air swirled around her, sending shivers racing down her bare arms and back, before settling behind her.

_How dramatic._

Integra sighed deeply. "I know you're there, Alucard. Show yourself."

A tall, lanky figure materialized and leisurely strolled down the wall behind her. Grinning widely, he leapt gracefully to the floor beside her. "Beautiful night, isn't it, Master?"

She leaned against the railing, her gaze never leaving the luminous orb shining above her as she addressed the midian. "What are you doing here? I distinctly remember giving you an assignment."

"And the mission is complete. The target has been eternally silenced. The good people of London can relax, sleep soundly, rest in peace . . . whatever they do when they aren't being turned into ghouls," he droned, making wispy, circular motions with his right hand. "Really wasn't much sport, though. Pathetic bastard took one glance at me and shot himself—left me with nothing but a ghoul or two to eliminate. Seriously, Integra," he continued, taking a seat on the wide concrete railing, "you must do a better job of finding suitable competition for me. I'm getting _bored._"

Grabbing her wrists, he quickly raised her arms and sprawled across the railing beneath her, letting her hands fall onto his chest once he was comfortable. She snatched her arms away and drew them close to her chest. It was only then that she looked at the vampire, only to find him clad not in his usual red coat and hat, but instead in a tuxedo, black cloak and hat lazily tipped over his face. Raising the hat, she saw a white mask covered half of his ghostly pale face. Integra could not help but snicker.

"I trust you approve of the costume?"

"I think Le Opera Garnier is missing a phantom. I won't return home to find that Michael Crawford has mysteriously vanished, will I?"

"Your words wound me so," he lamented, a look of poorly feigned distress upon his face.

Integra rolled her eyes. "I'm sure they do. So tell me, servant, why are you here? Did pestering me really rate higher than tormenting the little trick o' treaters?"

"Considering you forbade me from doing the latter, then yes. Besides, I felt your distress. I thought you might be in some sort of mortal peril."

"Really?" she laughed. "Mortal peril? From this bunch of stuffed-shirt old codgers? Surely you jest."

"So then tell me, Integra, if you are not fleeing from mortal peril, then why are you out here alone instead of dancing the night away with one of those handsome, young gents inside?" he asked, lazily twirling a long strand of golden hair between his fingers.

She swatted his hand away. "When did you become so concerned with my social life?"

"A servant only wishes to see his master happy."

"And now you're concerned about my happiness?"

Alucard sneered and pulled himself to a sitting position. "That attitude is precisely the reason you'll end up an old maid."

"No . . . _**YOU**_ are the reason I'll end up an old maid," she snapped, pointing at him accusatorily. "Or have you forgotten what happened to the last boy I made the mistake of acquainting with you?"

"That was quite unfortunate, wasn't it? His going _mad_ like that. You can never really tell about men these days. It's sad really. Pretty ladies in red dresses end up stranded on balconies . . . all alone . . . doomed to be wallflowers. You know, you never did answer my question."

"And I will continue not answering it as long as it remains none of your concern. Now, are you going to drone on all night, or are you going to actually ask me to dance?"

"My master wishes to grant me the honor of the first dance of the evening? How could I not accept?" Alucard hopped from his seat and knelt before her. A long moment passed before he rose. He quickly scooped her into his arms and leapt to the courtyard below.

"Are you trying to kill me?" she screamed as he set her on the grass.

"Certainly not, my fair _Miss_ Hellsing. I wished to only take us to an appropriately sized dance space." Suddenly, his face grew very grim, and for a moment, Integra feared real trouble might have reared its ugly head at this evening's festivities. Then, he leaned in and whispered, very seriously, "I will get to lead, yes?"

"But of course," she replied. _ Imbecile._

"I heard that."

"Shut up and dance, vampire."

They began to move to the sounds of the muffled music coming from the ballroom. As they danced, Integra noticed that Alucard began to regard her more and more curiously, as though she had just sprouted a third eye in the middle of her forehead and he was trying to figure out why. The unwanted attention grew old quickly.

"Out with it."

"What are you supposed to be anyway?"

"The devil."

A deep chuckle echoed through the night. "How wonderfully ironic."


	2. Chapter 2

_**The next morning . . .**_

Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing and her mysterious gentleman friend were the talk of London's upper echelon. A few passersby had caught glimpses of the dark shapes twirling in the darkness. One even swore he saw the two lock in a passionate kiss before simply disappearing into the fog; however, his account also included being chased a six-eyed hellhound, so most chalked his tale up to excessive imbibing. None dared make mention of even witnessing the event to her. None dared incite her wrath. Fortunately for them, she was too preoccupied with troubles of her own to be anything but ignorant of the gossip.

Integra bit her lip and tried to concentrate on the daunting pile of papers before her—invoices, mission reports, acquisitions, transfer requests all requiring her immediate and undivided attention; none of which were receiving it. The chill in that drafty office; on the other hand, had her undivided attention. It enveloped her, caressing her through the smooth wool of her suit like a pair of frozen, undead hands.

Slumping in her chair, she lit a cigarillo and took a long, slow drag as she looked at the portrait of her father hanging on the far wall, staring at her condescendingly. Integra knew that she was not without weaknesses. She liked to smoke. She enjoyed the occasional drink. Sometimes, she relished the fact that people feared her foul temper.

And then, there was Alucard.

It was no secret that the creature had rather strong feelings for her; lust more than anything else. He got off on her orders, deliberately undermining her authority and questioning her resolve, all to hear her speak the words again—passionate words that condemned her enemies to death; words that unleashed the vampire's madness onto an unsuspecting world. All the death, all the destruction—it was all for her. He _never_ let her forget it.

As much as it disgusted her, she was drawn to the carnage. She wanted to see her foes cower in wide-eyed terror as he ripped their bodies asunder with naught but his bare hands. She wanted the trophies of his triumph displayed for all the world to see; a sea of mutilated corpses impaled across a battlefield shrouded in smoke and flame, and her servant kneeling before her, just smiling . . . always smiling, knowing how much his work pleased her.

It was all too easy to get lost in that vast darkness.

A shiver ran through her. She chose to blame it on the cold air rather than the memory of soft lips against her neck.

_Father is surely spinning in his grave._

It was all a mistake—every moment after she allowed him to, literally, carry her away from that balcony. She thought she was strong enough to not be swayed by the allure of sweet nothings whispered in her ear by smooth-talking vampires. Apparently, even she was fallible.

It would never happen again.

"You concern yourself too much with the opinions of the dead."

"Then I shan't concern myself with yours."

"How cruel," he replied, lips turning up into a smirk.

He stalked across the room and took a seat on the edge of her desk. She turned her head, pretending to concentrate on the massive stack of papers before her, ever the picture of cool collectedness. Even without looking, she knew he was watching her, hunting her, piercing crimson eyes boring holes into her very soul.

"Alucard, what do you want?" she bit, more harshly than she intended.

"What's wrong, Integra?" he replied coyly. "You rather enjoyed my company last night."

Integra clenched her jaw as she felt her face grow flush. "Don't you see that I'm busy? Now, go away. I have work to do."

He vanished, but she still felt his presence lurking in the room, staring at her, mocking her with that insolent smirk; that Cheshire grin full of madness, arrogance and strange charm, in its own frightening way.

Maniacal laughter filled the expansive space. "Lie to yourself all you want, Integra. You know you can't stop thinking about it. You want me to touch you. You want me inside you, making you come over and _over_ and _**over **_again_._ You want this manor filled with the sounds of your screams."

The disembodied voice paused. "There is one thing I'm simply dying to know."

She slammed her hand into the firm oak of the desk, smashing the pen she had been holding in two. "What?"

Integra jumped in her seat as the midian suddenly rematerialized before her, his long body, leaning over her desk; his face barely inches away from hers. "Does your blood boil that much when I lay the bodies of your enemies at your feet? Do you crave the carnage as much as you apparently crave me?"

A loud crack thundered through the room as Integra's hand collided with the face of the vampire. He raised a hand to his cheek, slightly shocked and greatly amused by the fact she had the gall to strike him.

"Get out," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" He laughed like a madman; his dark, riotous cackling sending chills coursing down her spine. "Integra, you should have let me turn you last night. What a vampire you would have been."

"GET OUT!"

"As you wish, _my master_," he said, bowing as he stepped away from the angry woman. "I shall leave you to your thoughts. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that you can fight this craving forever."

He paused before phasing through the wall. "You are the great Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. You _always _get what you want. When you're no longer in denial about this, let me know. You know where I'll be."

He was long gone by the time the silver letter opener embedded itself in the wall.


End file.
